Duel in the Darkness
by Toaofwriting
Summary: "You have faced much in your long lifetime-Men, Dwarves, Orcs, Goblins, a fallen cousin, and so many other servants of the Enemy that you have quite lost track. But none, none have ever been as terrible as this foe." A retelling of the epic battle between the Balrog and Gandalf, from the latter's point of view.


**Hello, everyone! If you're also reading The Other Companion, I apologize for the delay, but this came to mind and I just had to do it. **

**Anyway, if Lord of the Rings belonged to me, my last name would be Tolkien. My last name isn't Tolkien. Therefore, ergo, henceforth, and in conclusion, I do not own Lord of the Rings or any affiliated characters, places, etc.**

"What is this new devilry?" Aragorn asks. You don't respond, head bowed in grief at your own foolishness in bringing them here and the dwarf miners' greed-they had dug so deeply that they had woken that which should never have been disturbed. It's not a new devilry at all-it's an old devilry, a very old one indeed. No wonder Curunir **(Elvish name for Saruman)** was so willing to let the Fellowship leave Caradhas, knowing what was waiting for them. You knows there is no other choice, and pray to Iluvatar that, if not yourself who survives, then at least your friends will get clear. You're vaguely aware of something clattering in the deep, and open your eyes. A fiery glow has started up, down at the other end of the tunnel. It is only beginning to wake now, thankfully, and is still some distance away, but not for long.

"A Balrog," you say. "A demon of the ancient world."

You can see out of the corner of his eye the others tensing-they know that anything that frightens you must be terrible indeed. Legolas, however, know exactly what is coming for them-you can tell by the way the Elf's face tightens that he has paid attention to the ancient myths.

"This foe is beyond any of you," you say, turning away. "Run!"

They do so, streaming away as fast as they can with you in the lead. Not for the first time, you wish that the Valar had seen fit to give you a younger, stronger body, but there is no time to think on that now. Their path illuminated by your staff and the torches, they all flee, you drawing Glamdring. Boromir, the young, reckless Man, rushes ahead and almost falls to his death, but Legolas leaps in and drags him back. The four Hobbits gape at the chasm below. You gasp, and Aragorn comes to you, as always. Grasping the Man's shoulder, you command:

"Lead them on, Aragorn. The bridge is near."

In the latter's eyes, you can see the loyalty and unwillingness to leave his friend, but also the knowledge that this is the best way and that there is no time for an argument.

"Do as I say!" you command, pushing your friend away. "Swords are no more use here."

If he survives this, he won't take it to heart. And if your plan doesn't work, well….you won't have to worry about him holding a grudge anyway.

"Over the bridge!" you command, as flames billow up. It is close, then. "Fly!"

You wait as each of them runs past, mentally counting them off. Once each one has gone past, you take a deep breath and turn to face the threat. Flames rise, and the Balrog appears out of them, rising up like a demon from darkest nightmare-which, in truth, it is, a creature of fire and shadow from the old days. You spare just a moment to feel pity for this poor, twisted soul, blackened by Morgoth so long ago. Indeed, you are not very different, you and it, except for the fact that you are sworn to Light instead of darkness. It roars, fire in its' throat. You have faced much in your long lifetime-Men, Dwarves, Orcs, Goblins, a fallen cousin, and so many other servants of the Enemy that you have quite lost track. But none, none have ever been as terrible as this foe. You turn and flee with the others as it approaches, bent on destruction. They reach the bridge, and hurry across, you in the rear, moving as quickly as you can. Finally, when you have reached around halfway, you turn and face the creature one last time.

"You cannot pass!" you cry out, absolutely determined now. If either of them crosses, it will _not _be the Balrog.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cries out behind you, but you cannot take your attention away from it. It is his cry that gives you strength-whatever happens, it must not be allowed to reach the young Hobbit. The demon rears up in front of you as you gather your strength, bursting into flame and spreading its arms wide. But you are a Maia of the Valar, and will not go down easily. The Balrog isn't the only one here that can play with fire.

"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor." He summons a shield around himself-not as powerful as he would like, but good enough under the circumstances, and holds up his staff threateningly. It summons up a flaming sword and pulls it back as well.

"The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Uduin!"

It brings down its blade on his sphere of light. The blade shatters, but so does the shield.

"Aaah!" he cries out involuntarily as his creation shatters. It's a stalemate, of course-they are, after all, equal and opposite servants of greater Masters. The Balrog pulls back, but then leans forward again, by no means defeated. But neither, after all, are you.

"Go back to the Shadow," you snarl, holding up Glamdring. _Time to see just how good those Elven-smiths were. _

The creaturesummons a long whip of flame and uncoils it, whipping it back and forth. Very well then, so be it.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

With what strength you have left, you raise both staff and sword above your head, channeling everything you have into them, and bring them down upon the bridge. For a moment or two, it seems to do nothing, and the Balrog snarls once more and prepares its whip. But as it does, the bridge crumbles. Roaring, it and half of the bridge crumble into the void, rearing its whip in a last, futile gesture. You sigh as it begins to disappear-that was the hardest battle you have ever faced, and you do feel a tiny mote of pity for the soul so twisted by darkness. You turn away and begin to head back to your friends-and a fiery pain lashes around your ankle. Crying out, you fall, grasping desperately onto the remnant of the structure. You see Frodo rush forward, crying out your name as Boromir restrains him. The looks on all of your friends' faces are similarly distraught. You try to pull yourself up, but cannot get a grip, and the creature's whip is still pulling you down. This is the end, then. Could be much worse. At least you've gone down fighting. There's no time to say what he wants to say to everyone, and he's never been very good at expressing sentiment anyway.

"Fly, you fools," he says simply, and hopes that they will understand. Frodo screams in grief and denial as you let go of the bridge and plummet into the depths of darkness.

**Well? What did you guys think? It's been a while since I've written something like this, and I wanted to give LotR a try as well. This scene's always resonated with me, and this is my tribute to it. If people want, I will write a sequel involving one of the other characters' reaction to this scene-we already have Gandalf's narration of the second half of the battle, so I don't think there would be much point to writing a story about it. **


End file.
